


A Waltz For Your Thoughts?

by OneMoreMuffin



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballet, Child Neglect, Coping with dance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Self-Harm, TW for some of the insults I used, This was me trying to cope without dance in the 2020 pandemic, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:36:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreMuffin/pseuds/OneMoreMuffin
Summary: Writing Prompt:At the strike of 12, your fairy godmother didn't appear, but a masked gentlemen did. With one hand, he asks, "Would you like to dance, Princess?"
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A Waltz For Your Thoughts?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written on 7th of April, 2020.
> 
> While I myself am not MTF, I am AFAB who identifies as genderfluid. I apologise in advance if I have made any assumptions or notes that may be incorrect or insensitive and I ask that you correct me if I have. I also used a few insults like f-g and tr-nny. This might be triggering for some so please read with caution.  
> And yes, I am a dancer who in 2020, died a bit without having much space to do anything. So this was me trying to live through my writing.  
> I hope you enjoy the work!

Another day, more pain to come. I wake to darkness and spots of white outside the curtain-less window from the screaming and taunting in my head. Sleep be damned in my word, I can get a head start for the day. I get changed and hope there is maybe enough food to get me through the day-at least until this evening.

...There isn’t

No matter, the run to work isn’t too far, I might be able to get some bites of cookies before the cafe opens for the morning rush. My dad be damned, he has a somewhat stable job. Food for him is a 5 minute drive and a take-out order away. If I leave now, I won’t be scolded for eating the stock.

While I don’t get scolded, I get covered in coffee from my coworkers’ clumsiness, staining my hoodie and making it almost see through over my arms and scars . The usual, “ _Opps, sorry._ I’m so uncoordinated.” I’m used to it all anyways. It’s not everyday that a dancer that has maybe some chance to be on a professional stage is struggling with their life.

Let alone one with an unwanted body.

Trying to get through school on a mostly empty stomach is hard, but you get used to it Especially with every other person speaking like I’m invalid. “What a creep.”, “That fucking fag is there again.”, “He isn’t even good at ballet. The only reason a boy would do ballet is to check out all the girls in tights.”, “A boy? En pointe? I think you're mistaken.” ...The teachers at least don’t go on and on about it.

“Daniel?” It’s _Anna_.

“...Here.”

My second shift after school has me cleaning up mess after mess in the shop. Whether it’s spilt coffees by customers, vomit from some kid, groups of students’ empty cups and half eaten cake after having their weekly gossip about that pathetic _tranny_ in school(well aware that I’m there). I don’t have to let them see my tears for them to know I heard what was said.

Taking two trains and a 10 minute walk from either school or work to my class isn’t ideal (especially when one still has to get changed into tights) but it’s the best part of the day, even if I am late.

“Ahh, Anna. Go on through to the change rooms. I will let your teacher know you are here.”

“Ann! We just started barre. Don’t stress, you aren’t that late.”

“Anna just arrived Miss Lilah.”

It doesn't take more than 15 minutes to change into my long sleeve leotard, tights, skirt, tuck and attach my ponytail wig to pin into a bun. My hair isn’t long enough to make a natural bun, it's just long enough to get a small tail of hair back in a hair tie.

At least the girls at dance are here for me. All of them know and are happy to have me there with them. It’s the most accepting place I have. No matter how disgusting the whispers are, how low my esteem is that day, the graceful instrumental that plays and the wooden shoes I wear help distract and comfort me for at least an hour or so. Adage may be the bane of my existence and kill my muscles, to me it is the most beautiful part of the class. Even if my favourite ballet is Don Quixote which has an entirely different feel to adage all together, I love both equally.

“Thank you girls. We will finish with reverence and then you can leave for the night.” Reverence is when the curtain closes on my joy. It means an end to class, an end to the performance inside the studio. I start to miss class even when the same piano riff starts to fill the room.

I don’t get home until 9, maybe 10 if I spend too much time talking (and venting) with the girls. Then I get to eat whatever my dad has lying on the table from what he had at work.

Or at least the leftovers from it.

If there's just a little amount of food left in the box, it makes it easier for me to take it without being caught. The good thing about it at least helps give me a smaller figure for dance. The leftover greasy chicken wings and a few chips that probably fell on the floor become my food as I start and finish my homework. Or as much as I can get done without banging my head on my desk and waking up my dad. Even if I do, sometimes he doesn’t even wake up and yell at me, some negligent dad.

I stop at 11:30. I hate it all and the stars are brighter than normal so I head out to them with my pointe shoes.

The backyard isn’t anything special, just an area of overgrown grass and weeds with a concrete rectangle next to the fence with a stepping stone path and a small barely functioning fountain that my mother used to tend to. She loved nature and she really portrayed that in her dance. But now being so famous and having a son that’s really a daughter, she didn’t need me or my dad. Not that I blame her. Dad abusing me for this, like it’s something he can control if he punished me enough. She wasn't exactly the most accepting type either with eyes on her 24/7.

It just hurts.

Dad doesn’t abuse me anymore though, just neglect. He chooses to ignore me, pretends that he has no daughter-no child. He gives me enough so the cops don’t come and arrest him. 

It just hurts.

I sit at the fountain to put on my shoes, but stop myself.

I grabbed my blade again.

I feel the stars mocking me. They shine so bright up in space, everyone looking to them, wishing for their dreams to come true on them, people desiring to become them.

“Do any of you try to shut up? Or even try to care?!” I scream to them, “Yeah, not all of us are as privileged to have that new phone or an amazing boyfriend that buys us presents every day for us, but do you even try to give sympathy to the less fortunate?! I don’t even have a name for you! It’s _fag_ , or _tranny_ , or _attention seeker_ , or any other new word you fuckers come up with! You don’t even call me Daniel anymore! What does it take for you to call me for once Anna!”

If I cut over the old scars, no one should notice. It’s not like I wear these hoodies and long sleeves for nothing. They would give the stars what they want but they calm me down. Calm me down for at least a little bit.

“It’s Anna. Just once, have a heart...

...please."

The sleeves sit up on my elbows so I can see the array of lines. It’s like an abstract art piece of random shapes and lines, it’s beauty differing in the eye of the beholder. I don’t realise I’m crying until I feel the tears on my arms, stinging into open wounds.

_Much better._

I don’t care about this anymore. These stupid shoes only show me a parent who didn’t care about their child. I mean nothing. To anyone.

“I don’t care anymore. Call me what you want. Just wait until I am in my grave.”

“My princess, what are you doing?”

A calming voice brings me back, a man kneels in front of me with a blue and white masquerade mask that almost glows in the starlight. The eyes of someone worried stare into mine and hands stain with small drops of red in contrast with his brown hair.

He called me _princess._

“N-nothing.” I pull my arm back and rub my eyes to at least taper off the river. “What are you doing? Trying to whisk young girls off their feet as some sort of fairy godmother?” The man’s eyes curl up and a small chuckle comes out of his mouth.

“If that is what you shall make of me, I will gladly be your fairy godmother. But I would much prefer to be your Prince Charming, getting a dance from this fine maiden in front of me, if she will allow it?.”

The comment catches me off guard. I surely must be hallucinating from blood loss, maybe even already fainted on the ground. A man like this would never exist, let alone in a small suburban area like this one I live in. But I will accept this for one night. I smile a bit at the thought of us dancing.

“I take your smile as a yes?”

I nod.

This man takes the pointe shoes in his hands, unraveling the ribbons and going to slide one foot into a shoe. I open my mouth to interject and put on my own shoes but I get cut off before I can finish a word.

“I will not allow a princess like yourself to put on her own glass slippers.” He stands up, my pointe shoes already on and tied perfectly. “Her hands must instead take her prince’s hand.”

His hand sits open and presented towards me, his head and body slightly bowed. I can now see that he wore a white shirt with a dark blue vest fitted over the top, covered by a black long-tailed jacket with matching black gloves, pants and shoes. The jacket had small blue patterns adorned on it that I can’t fully make out.

Clearly better dressed than me still in a leotard and tights.

I smile more and place my hand in his. _Mistake._

The pain sears through my arm into my head making me slightly dizzy as I stand. He catches me with his arms wrapped around my waist and the back of my head.

Smooth Anna.

“My princess, I’m sorry about the pain. Let me take it all away from you.”

He leads me towards the cement area just by the fountain, him walking on the grass and myself walking over the stepping stones.

Once we are both on the cement he moves his free hand to mine and puts it on his shoulder before moving his own hand down to my waist. I notice he is slightly taller than me now that we are standing close to each other like this as I look up to him.

“Follow my lead, princess.”

And so I do.

We start in a waltz, a simple waltz, two pairs of eyes on one another, before he starts leading me into turns and arabesques by his sight and movements. He moves gracefully around me, letting me be able to have this night. A night that I can just be. I close my eyes, just letting myself feel his hands leading me to different positions and steps. This pa de deux is one of the most calming things and makes me forget about what was just happening moments before. Let me not wake up from this dream.

“My princess, you perform so beautifully.” He whispers to me mid attitude en pointe as he kisses down my arm of scars.

He lifts me into the air to dip me forward slightly into a fish dive. He makes me feel as if we are performing on a large stage to hundreds of people, like I am floating away and this will be our last meet for years to come. Slowly, the steps we do decline in difficulty to slow down back to a small waltz. He turns me out of it and he bows to me in reverence.

The saddest part of any performance.

...Reluctantly I curtsy back.

“I hope that I didn’t frighten you. I wish to simply bring you the joy you deserve.” His eyes stare into mine, making me feel that he was searching my soul for any more sadness he can take away before he has to inevitably go.

“Only a little bit. But you are welcome to come back, this was one of the most beautiful times I have ever had in my life.” He smiles again and begins walking me back to the house,

“I will take you up on that offer then, my princess.”

I pick up on it this time, _my_ princess.

“I thank you for the dance but I am not yours. I don’t even have a name for the prince in blue and black.” He seems to be caught off guard by my comment from him walking faltering, only for a second.

He clears his throat before speaking. “Rowan. Remember me by Rowan.” Rowan leads his hand for me up the stairs while he stays in the tall grass.

“Well, _Prince Rowan_ ,” He flinches slightly at prince. “I-” remembering I left behind a sliver tool in the garden I cut myself off, “I left something in the garden, could I get it back?” Rowan looks back to me, suspicious of me.

“On one condition. Can I trust you to not do this again?” He takes out the blade I had been using before. Did he grab it as we walked past the fountain?

I have to nod my head to try and get it back, it is one of my best coping mechanisms. “I can be trusted. Please?” I don’t think he bought my lie.

“Mmmm, maybe I will give it back tomorrow, or the day after. Once I know that my princess is feeling better fully.” He gestures down to my limbs, but it appears as if there was no injury don’t tonight. Only the scars of the past. “But before I go, perhaps I may have a name for my leading princess tonight before I go?”

Impulsively, I lean in to kiss him on the check. “Anna. I hope to see you soon, I will need that back.”

Rowan draws two fingers to his cheek for a moment to where I kissed him before closing his eyes and bringing those two fingers to his own lips. “I will be back soon. When I come see you again I hope that I won’t find you in the same place. Now I need you to close your eyes and count to 5.”

I give him a questioning look, “Can I trust _you_ , Prince Rowan?” I close my eyes.

1.. 2… 3… 4…

I lean forward slightly, anticipating something, _anything_...

...5.

I open my eyes and he is gone. But left in front of me, his blue mask he wore tonight.

I whisper into the air, "Goodnight, Prince Rowan." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please reach out if I had made any mistakes or errors that I need to fix.


End file.
